Backwards Walk
by Venillashiz
Summary: He had lost her to the arms of a man who was, by definition, Superman himself. And it was his fault. It was all his damn fault. Post 3.08, AU onwards. May contain spoilers for 3.08 Chuck vs The Fake Name
1. Faults and Cracks

A/N: Hey guys, after yesterday's heartbreaking episode, during which I screamed and yelled uncontrollably at Shaw and our dear Sam, I just had to pen down my thoughts in some way or another. I kept wondering what Chuck would do, now that Hannah was out of his life and Shaw and Sarah were gettin' it on. I'm not sure if it's my angst talking, but this is one of the most angsty pieces I've ever written. It's probably a piece of crap, but I really needed to get my thoughts out there. I might make this a multichapter, I might not. I'm not sure where I'll take this, but we'll see. Spoilers for episode 3.08, just to warn you.

Disclaimers - I don't own Chuck. theprincess1511 didn't really beta this, but she did give me her input. Forgive me for whatever mistakes you may find.

It's a short, little piece that I put together tonight. Chuck's been draining me, I don't like that that's happening, but I still do love the show dearly, and I always will.

* * *

He walked dejectedly into the Burbank plaza, eyes resting on the Buy More with disdain. Wincing, as he realized that he had just practically screwed Hannah's life over. Did he really expect her to report to work the following day? Did he truly expect to face her, after their ugly breakup? He had put her out of a job and broken the bond of a relationship that they desperately longed to have. But as he reminisced about the day's past events, he was almost sure that they never would have worked out. As much as he liked Hannah Richards, he would never love her with the same amount of passion that she had for him.

He would always be comparing her to Sarah, regardless of how different the two were. It was always about how Sarah disliked olives, how she loved a medium-rare steak, and never about how Hannah loved her steak to be a charred well-done. In each criteria of comparison, Sarah somehow managed to fight her way into his thoughts, as though she too, was hoping that he'd never get a chance to move on.

Listening to Sarah rant about his changing nature was just about equivalent to a punch to his gut. He knew very well that he was changing; Hell, he saw it more than anyone else. Yet he constantly shrugged it off, reassuring himself that he was taking one for the team. He was becoming a spy; achieving things that had never crossed his mind in the past. As far as the government knew, the Intersect 2.0 was a partial success, relying solely on him for the other half. So why did success taste so damn bitter?

Hearing Sarah reveal something completely real about herself to Shaw, without any prompting, without any hesitation, was a stab through his heart. What did Shaw have that he didn't? _Everything, _he chuckled dryly, stepping into a muddy puddle, and letting out a brief string of curses. He was still in love with her, and he came to the shocking realization that, well, he'd never stopped.

Spotting Sarah's Porsche still parked in its usual spot, he smiled softly, albeit sadly, knowing that she was probably with Shaw at that very moment. From their kiss that he had witnessed, he knew that somehow, he had lost the girl of his dreams; the girl who could very well have been the bane of his existence. But that was it, wasn't it? Love wasn't all about hugs and kisses and smooth sailing relationships. No, love was all about a sense of trust, opening up your heart for the other person to take.

Love _hurt._

He had lost her to the arms of a man who was, by definition, Superman himself. And it was his fault. It was all his damn fault.

He nodded absentmindedly, trudging soundlessly toward the Herder that was parked by the storefront. He sighed as he slipped into the driver's seat, trying his very best to ignore how close she had come to losing her life today. Accelerating at speeds he would have normally cringed upon, he felt the tears blurring his vision, cursing his weak, lemony heart for being so pathetic.

The hearty, ironic jingle that emanated from his chest-pocket was hopelessly out of place in the cramped Herder, contrasting with the silent sobs that he released from the driver's seat – the shining, radiant face of Ellie filled the cell phone screen.

Clenching his eyes as another wave of chokes attacked his lungs, he let the tuneless melody slip unnoticed through his racing mind. He drove to wherever the roads would take him, the darkness of the night swallowing the Toyota Matrix in a cloud of blackness, if not for the headlights that shone ahead.

He found himself standing on the soft, powdery sand of the Santa Monica beach, letting the cool powder fill the spaces between his toes. It was _their_ beach, nothing would ever change that. He began to grin, noting the momentary lapse of the stinging, aching pain in his chest. The pain, as long as he remembered, never went away. It would never fade, as long as he remained. It would never, ever fade.

He smiled tentatively as he began to strip down into his boxers, leaving his clothes littered onto the deserted beach. He yelled something that could rival Tarzan's native call, sprinting straight into an oncoming wave, embracing the cool water that enveloped him. As each wave lapped against his body, he felt his consciousness begin to melt away, along with every fibre of his strength. He was grateful for such a rare moment of peace, drifting off to the therapeutic crashing of waves.

* * *

"Honey, he's still not answering my calls," Ellie muttered worriedly toward Devon, who plopped himself onto the couch, magazine in hand. "Morgan hasn't seen him for days, but he just got back from some kind of seminar. He didn't see Chuck last night either…"

"Chill out, babe. The Chuckster mentioned that he had plans with Hannah, didn't he?"

Ellie shook her head, dismissing the idea immediately. "He told me that he was going to end it with her."

She attempted to stifle a giggle as her husband stared at her as though she had just informed him that unicorns and fairies existed in the world.

"Whoa, whoa, he did what? Did he say why?"

"He still has feelings for Sarah…"

Devon could only watch helplessly as a lightbulb went off in his wife's head. She whipped out her cell phone, dialling the blonde spy's number. He strained to listen, silencing the television as soon as Ellie collapsed against him, pressing the phone to both their ears.

"_Hello?"_

"Oh, I'm sorry, is Sarah there?" Ellie faced her husband in shock as a deep, unfamiliar male voice answered the call.

"_She's, uh… She's in the bathroom right now, can I take a message?" _

Ellie frowned as she heard the unmistakeable giggle of Sarah Walker in the background, contrasting against Devon's very much confused face. _Weren't inter-spy relationships frowned upon? _He hadn't a clue who the man was, but he'd imagine that the guy was a new addition to Chuck's team – someone who had put the moves on Sarah.

"Y-Yes," her voice grew increasingly shaky, heart breaking, if not for her little brother.

"Tell her that Chuck's gone. He's gone and I don't… I don't know where he is."


	2. Blanks and Gaps

A/N: Hey guys! I'm so stunned by the amount of awesome reception I got for this originally-meant-to-be oneshot! I'd like to thank you all so very much for taking the time to read this story, and that I appreciate any support that you guys offer. So how did everyone feel about Chuck vs The Beard? I thought it was pretty damn awesome. Zachary did a great job, and I've got my faith restored in the writers. Hahaha, anyway, I did say that I might continue this, and here it is! I hope it lives up to standards in terms of angst (even though life is angsty enough) and writing (because everyone else on this website is so amazing)

Oh, I just went for a Paramore concert on Sunday, so find the Paramore reference, which should be extremely easy to spot, and you might get a very nice present on your doorstep! :D Okay, not really, but you would've earned a fellow Paramore fan's respect! (:

Disclaimer - I don't own Chuck.

**theprincess1511**, my lovely beta, made this all possible.

* * *

The glaring light of dawn splashed across Burbank, Los Angeles – the beautiful, picture-worthy blend of orange and amber filling the sky like a burning flame that lit up the world. Seagulls called out in the distance, floating like a fleet of kites in the wind. As the tide began to tickle his bare feet, he began to stir, twitching slightly at the tingling sensation at the base of his limbs and the grains of sand that had rooted themselves in his wild, unruly locks fell back into the shoreline.

"Charles…"

He stiffened at the airy, wispy voice that had seemingly come out of no where. It was one he had not heard for a while; one that he hadn't expected to hear for the remainder of his life. Fingers raked through his damp hair with affection, combing the entangled mop into a neat push-back. He gripped a handful of sand in his palm.

"Chuck, honey, it's time to get up. We have to go."

"Go where?" He mumbled pathetically, the blur haze of sleep still partially clouding his mind. He cracked an eye open, peeping warily through his silted eyelids. They immediately rested upon her, the woman who stood over him, her floral sundress dancing in the warm breeze. Helping him to his feet, she took a step towards him, brushing a tender kiss against his cheek.

"Mum…" He whispered in disbelief and awe, shying away from her touch as though he had been burned. She smiled warmly, oblivious to his obvious discomfort. His fingers lingered over the spot on his cheek, where her lips had touched his skin.

"Hello Charles," she whispered in her familiar gentle tone, moving a step closer toward him. The sunlight hit her eyes, reflecting her molten chocolate eyes that he had inherited. The moment was almost ethereal and he found himself unwillingly doubting the fact that it were even real. He fought the overwhelming urge to kick and scream and sulk as he had, when she had first left them.

He tried his best to keep the poison out of his voice, albeit unsuccessfully, letting anger rear its ugly head. "Why are you here?"

She smiled again, eyes crinkling at the edges where lines had begun to form, and he finally realized how much older and haggard she appeared, than he had once remembered her. She held out her arms, her welcoming and radiating warmth coaxing him toward her like a moth into the light. She soothed him as he wrapped his arms around her, the previous night's turmoil eventually pouring back into his soul.

Tears stung his eyes, as the twisted knot in his stomach began to unravel. He fell to his knees, retching violently in an effort to empty the contents of his stomach, as she knelt beside him. She ran her hand over his back in a comforting gesture, whispering how proud she was of the man he had become. He shook his head vigorously, a strangled sob escaping his lips. He tried to speak; tried to tell her how much he had failed, how lost he was in life – but she would have none of that, instead pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

"I've missed you so much," he heard her mumble, breaking his ravaged heart a little bit more. He cried into her shoulder, realizing that he was sixteen years too late in the mourning of his mother's departure from his life. He had vague memories of his father moping around their home, before he too, had upped and left them.

Yet, he recalled no tears in their respective departures – only his discomfort when he first learnt that his parents were gone. Only bits and pieces where _he _had comforted his sister, floated back into his mind. It only made him weep a little harder and the pain, a little deeper.

If anyone had paid them attention, all they would've have noticed was a half-clothed man, crying and embracing the surrounding, choking atmosphere; embracing nothingness.

* * *

"Sam."

She flinches at his call; flinches at the way he wraps his arms around her while other agents comb the beach for Chuck. She winces as she catches Casey's highly disapproving glare. Yet, she attempts to enjoy the most spectacular sunset she's ever seen. Well, _one_ of the more spectacular ones. She's witnessed the most breathtaking views of the sun setting, and each picture that she had captured in her mind, were simply scenes in a movie.

The only one that had managed to take her breath away, was one where she had been seated beside him, all those years back.

Detaching herself from Shaw, she watches as his face falls dejectedly. He steps away from her, nodding in understanding as he goes back to supervising the other agents.

Her eyes glaze over as she shoots nervous glances toward the ocean. She's worried, so very worried that he might've done something so incredibly stupid. She wraps her arms around her trembling frame, a protective barrier that shields her from the breeze as it brushes its hands perversely over her flawless skin.

She shivers, feeling so cold, even though the temperature was high enough for any other person to fry an egg on the sidewalk. Maybe it was the way Shaw looked at her – she could see it in his eyes, the lust and longing that he sought from her. Maybe it was because the sun was so nearly beyond the horizon, and she feels the warmth die within her along with its absence.

Maybe it was because as soon as the sun went down, the hunt for their missing asset would've ceased. And in the process, all hope within her would have deflated so miserably that she could not help but break down and cry her eyes out. She knows that's not what Sarah Walker would've done. But she wasn't Sarah, was she?

She was Samantha Lisa Williams, a thirty year old _civilian_ from Chicago, who just happened to be lost in the darkest parts of a nightmare. But she longed to be Sarah Walker again, because as far as she knew, Sarah was the persona that she felt most at home with – cold and calculative at the right times, compassionate at the next and all around driven by that damned passion and flame that he had so easily extinguished by the sweet, simple actions that were like a battering ram to her reinforced walls.

And then she was Sam again. Sam wasn't afraid to cry; to show her emotions and how she felt about something. Sam wanted the whole package – the kids, the perfect husband, the dog that sat at her feet while she warmed up by the fireplace, the white fence and the beautiful house. She felt like such a schizophrenic, torn right down the middle between two completely different personalities.

But the thing is – she had no idea who she really was anymore.

"Agent Walker."

Jolted out of her rambling thoughts by another agent, she wore Sarah's facade for the moment, pulling on her usual contemplative mask. She nodded toward the agent, prompting him to report his findings. "We found this in the sand."

He drops a phone in her hand, and she studies him for a moment. She's seen his face before and she's got a feeling that she knows him. She squints slightly, the illumination of the sun is faint now, and it's getting dark.

"Josh? Josh Taylor?" She eyes him curiously, waiting for some sort of reaction. A smile graces his face, and she knows instinctively that it's him.

"Hey Sarah," he smiles softly.

He's got a past, just like her, and they had bonded over that fact while going through training at Langley together – briefly, for a week or two. He's handsome and he's charming, and he's had the smarts to be the perfect field agent. But he never did, choosing to be reassigned to various other departments of the Central Intelligence Agency, because he didn't want to leave his family behind.

"_Just being in the CIA is enough for me to know that somehow, I'__m still serving my country. And you know, it__'__s not so bad, cause I got to meet you, didn__'__t I?__"_

She remembers his words perfectly, knowing for a fact, that he had pressed his lips to hers right after he had said it.

Abandoning all her reserve, she envelops her old friend in a crushing hug, and he chuckles into her ear, hugging her back with equal gusto. They pull apart and she decides that she's happy to see her old flame and friend.

"Was surprised that you'd recognize me, _Agent _Walker," he teases with a tiny smile upon his face.

"Yeah, some of us actually made it to that rank, Mr Taylor," she narrows her eyes in a playful glare, watching as his face softens in a toothy grin.

"I've really missed you, Sarah. It's really great to see you again."

"You too, Josh."

For a moment, only smiles are exchanged and a comfortable silence falls easily over them like a blanket. She watches his cinnamon eyes as they scan the beach again, and suddenly, she's jolted back into the present. Her grip tightens over the phone in her hand and she begins to study it with an intense gaze.

"Ah, yes, about the phone," Josh pauses abruptly, glancing worriedly in her direction when her eyes shut voluntarily and her breath hitches in her throat. "You okay, Sarah?"

"Just say it," she snaps sharply, immediately regretting the action. Pressing two fingers to the bridge of her nose, she lets out a shaky sigh. "I'm sorry. I – I need to find Carmichael, he's my asset and I let my guard down when I should've been checking up on him but I –"

She frowns in annoyance as a gentle, melodic peal of laughter escapes from her companion, finding nothing amusing in the topic of conversation. He clears his throat, keeping a hint of a smile on his striking features as he folds his arms across his wind-breaker.

He shrugs, letting his grin shine. "Never thought I'd say this, Walker, but… you got it bad."

She scoffs, feigning indifference, when all she feels are the truth of his words, colliding into her like a punch to the gut. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Taylor."

He keeps a lopsided smile on her face, and she can't help but realize how much she's missed him.

"Oh come off it, Sarah. Frankly, I'm not surprised at all. I've seen his files – He's one impressive guy."

A faint smile makes its way onto her face. The irony of it all, amused her to no end. To anyone else, Charles Carmichael was a top agent; he's the famed "Mad Dog", the scourge of enemy operatives. But to her, he's the same Chuck Bartowski – the beautiful, brown-haired angel who had changed her life drastically. _If Carmichael was as impressive as he was known for, why did he run?_

"Yeah, well, he's run away. He's gone, and we need to find him."

"Sarah," Josh shook his head solemnly, a morose expression crossing his face for the first time since she's last seen him. "The phone was Carmichael's."


	3. Bold and Dark

A/N: Hey guys, sorry for the somewhat late update... Hahaha, just to give you a heads up, I'll be updating every week, since I usually get inspiration from each week's episode. And just to clear up a little on the story, I'm sort of trying to explore Chuck's past turmoil, as well as his present loss of Sarah, which will come in the later chapters, I promise. On Sarah's side, however, she's trying her best to deal with Chuck's disappearance and the fact that it was partly her fault that he ran away, and couple that with the fact that Shaw's still trying to ignite their relationship. This will definitely have a happy Charah ending, I promise. But for now, just let the characters vent their angst and anger in their own ways.

I'm sorry if this isn't what you wanted/expected, but I'm still gonna roll with this idea. If you've got any ideas, do let me know in a PM or review. Please, don't be shy. Oh, and about this week's episode, I was blown away by the Tic Tac. But I miss Casey already )': I missed Beckman, but she was totally out of line! ):

Disclaimers - I don't own Chuck or Frightened Rabbit's "My Backwards Walk."

theprincess1511 was awesome with her beta-ing. She edited all the right spots and spared me some embarrassment :D That girl is amazing!

Thanks for reading, guys. Means a lot to me, and the reviews, whether bad or good, just make my heart explode with joy!

* * *

His eyes widened in realization as he scanned the area, taking in every inch of the magical, ancient setting that was once his safest haven. The tree house was still in its tree, the mountain of comics and toys still safely hidden in the sturdy mahogany chest that rested on the deck of the suspended wooden hut.

He reached out a hand, brushing it affectionately over the aged tree that supported the house – after all these years, it was still standing tall and proudly as one of the only trees in the clearing of the wide meadow, which was overlooked by a quaint little residence by the side. _Home, _he had once called it. His expression was one of absolute disbelief, but his eyes, glazed and wet with tears, were beaming, where his face could not.

"_Hey Morgan,__ come on, I__'__ve got something awesome to show you!" He yelled, not even bothering to look behind him to ensure his friend was following. _

_His unusually long legs allowed him to take long strides forward, though his best friend had no such luxury. _

"_Wait up, Chuck!"_

"_Come on, you slowpoke!" He flung his arms wildly, finally turning back to face his best friend. He pointed straight at the figure in the distance, ne__aring with every step they took. Soon, the shorter of the two boys stood in slack-jawed awe as his eyes sweeped over the sight before them._

"_That'__s awesome, dude." _

"_It sure is, buddy." _

"_You built it? All of this?"_

"_I had help."_

"_That'__s impressive."_

"_Yep."_

_A pause._

"_RACE YOU UP, ORGAN!" _

"_Dude…__ Organ? That__'__s gonna stick, isn__'__t it?__"_

_A cheeky smile bloomed across the taller boy__'__s face. _

"_Oh, come on!__ Chuck, please, promise me you__'__ll never mention that name again!__" _

"_No promises, Organ. Now come on up here, I'__ve got something else to show you!"_

He chuckled, shaking his head at the memory that had flooded back into his mind. _We were so young. Innocent. _He placed another palm onto the tree. Then, curling it into a balled fist, he rapped against the bark. His mother's eyes widened as a roped ladder dropped from the branches above, while he faced her with a knowing smile.

"Morgan suggested it. Dad helped."

She nodded, slipping her hand into his. "Shall we go up?"

He casted his eyes downward, not satisfied with her nonchalance regarding his father. He watched as ants worked their way into the dirt of the ground beneath. They scurried around their anthill, and he had the sickening urge to expose it to a jet of water. If he paid her attention, he would've noticed the loss of a smile on her face. But he did not, burning a hole into the ground with his intense gaze.

"Did…" He paused, not sure if what he was asking would offend her. "Did you miss Dad while you were… gone? Did you miss us?"

She sighed, gently pressing her palm to his face in a comforting gesture. Then she stepped forward, embracing his lanky form in a tight bear hug.

"In all those years that I was gone… Chuck, I never stopped missing you, your sister or your father. I never stopped thinking of the three of you and it makes me so _proud_ that you two have never stopped taking care of each other, even after your father left," she whispered into his ear. He could feel the dampness through his t-shirt – tears, rampant and hot, rolled down her cheeks and into his clothing, where a dark blotch had formed.

"Sweetheart," she pulled away, reaching up with a shaky, frail hand to swipe the fallen tears away. "Every night, every day, I thought of you two, wondering if your father was taking good care of you, wondering if you were eating well. I wanted to come back, Chuck. I really did."

His vision turned blurry, but the tears failed to fall, her soft fingertips brushing them away at the very last second. "Why didn't you then?"

"You'll find out soon enough," she said, an air of finality in her statement, seemingly unintimidating and yet assertive enough for him to stop pressing the topic.

He smiled, taking her hand in his. "Come on, mum, let's climb up to the Bartowstree!"

"Is that what you and your dad named it?" She laughed heartily, and he was treated with memories of himself as a child, falling asleep to that peaceful, musical peal of laughter. "I swear, your father was such a brilliant inventor. He just never had the originality when it came to naming his inventions!"

"Yeah, guess it runs in the family," he grinned cheekily, passing the ladder to his mother. The tree house was small, but definitely strong enough to support their combined weight. He remained nervous though, making sure not to fidget too often. He turned towards the chest, pausing for a moment to retrieve a key that he had hidden in his wallet.

He hesitated – it had been too long since he had last opened it. He could hardly even remember what he had stored, other than his collection of comics which he had failed to retrieve when they had moved. Holding his breath in anticipation, he felt his mother's reassuring arm on his – he half expected the inside of the chest to emit a gold light as he lifted the catch.

But there was no gold, no treasure – only items that he once considered dear to his heart. His comic book collection rested to the side, while action figures occupied the rest of the space. Then he spotted it, still wrapped in its protective plastic and buried underneath his figure of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Gingerly, he enclosed his hand around the item, the plastic crinkling between his fingertips as he poured the contents into his palm. A keychain, in the shape of a lion – Simba of The Lion King, to be exact. He wasn't surprised when she pulled out a keychain of her own and placed it into her own palm – Sarabi, Simba's mother.

"_Chu__ckles, Elle bear! Mummy__'__s home!"_

_Distinct shouts and screams echoed through the house as two bumbling balls of energy shot down the stairs, slapping and kicking at each other__'__s faces and shins. The boy, distinguished by his untamed curls, began to wail as his older sister snatched the lead, jumping into his mother__'__s arms before he could. _

"_Hush, darling,__" his mother soothed, shifting Ellie into one arm while she sco__oped her son up with the other. Giving them both a peck on each cheek, their stubby little arms embraced her neck from every direction. Finally, she replanted them to the floor, bending down so that she maintained eye contact. _

"_I'__ve got something for the both of you!" _

"_What is it, mamma?" Ellie squealed, jumping up and down excitedly.__ Chuck merely grinned shyly, holding his sister__'__s hand in anticipation._

"_Here we go! Ellie, hold out your palm," she smiled, placing a keychain of Simba in her palm. A soft whine from Chuck and the keychain of Simba was transferred to his own palm, courtesy of Ellie, who planted a kiss on his cheek at the same time. _

"_That'__s my girl," she whispered, ruffling her daughter__'__s hair, as she placed another keychain into her hand. "You love Nala too, don__'__t you?" _

"_Yeah! Nala is so beautiful!__"_

"_Now, Chuck,__ Ellie,__" __she held their hands in her own, smiling as their eyes immediately latched onto hers. "No matter what; no matter where Mummy has to go, once you have Simba and Nala with you, it means that Mummy__'__s got Sarabi with her, and Daddy__'__s got Mufasa with him. And we__'__re all going to be together forever, aren__'__t we?"_

_Chuck nodded vigorously, his toothless smile reigniting the faltering flame within her __–__ at least for a while. Then she turned to Ellie, whose face reflected confusion. She felt a surge of pride for her daughter __–__ she had always been such a bright child. _

"_Why are you saying this, momma?" _

_Olivia Bartowski fought to keep the radiant smile on her face, just for a moment longer._

And all they could do was smile back at each other.

* * *

"Damn it, Shaw!"

Sarah paused to glare at the offending figure in front of her. His eyes were downcast, yet the frown on his face indicated anger, instead of the guilt or regret that she thought he was supposed to be feeling. She detached his arms from her shoulders for what seemed like the fifth time, before leaning down to help Josh to his feet.

She lent a hand to his jaw, wincing when he winced, as she brushed against the open sore that had developed on his lip, blood gathering on her fingertips. He brushed off her concern with ease – it was just a flesh wound, but he could vouch that Shaw's clenched fist packed one hell of a punch.

"This is our fault," she stared him down. "Chuck's gone and it's _our _fault for not paying attention to him! This is exactly why I didn't want anything to start between us – we start to lose focus, we _don__'__t _concentrate on protecting him and we let him slip through our fingers, just like that!"

"And if you're perfectly content at being so unprofessional, I think we should nip this in the bud – right here, right now." She gestured toward Josh, whose swelled lip was evidence enough.

"Sam… I–"

"It's Sarah." Her hiss ensured the end of that conversation.

"Look, Sarah, it's totally fine. My lip's completely fine! Nothing I haven't felt before. I really don't want any trouble –"

"Josh, your lip is _bleeding. _There's a godforsaken _bruise _forming on your jaw and the fact you did absolutely nothing wrong just makes it sickening."

"Sarah, with all due respect to Agent Shaw–"

She let out a cry of frustration, pushing past the two bewildered men and stalking her way toward her Porsche. Her hand itched to grab the Smith & Wesson, perpetually tucked between her waistband, and shoot majority of the agents on the beach.

"Agent Walker," one of the agents spoke up as she stormed past him.

"What?" she spat, pinning him with a murderous glare.

"W-we've found something pertaining to Agent Carmichael's whereabouts. Our highway cameras have picked up a red and white Toyota Matrix travelling toward Palo Alto. We've already confirmed that Agent Carmichael was behind the wheel."

And she felt her heart begin to beat again.


	4. Pencil In The Rest

A/N: Alrighty. I've been having a killer writer's block for a while now, and it's been a few weeks since I last updated this. I'm truly sorry for that, but the negativity in this fandom was seriously bringing me down. But now, may I take this chance to say, "I TOLD YOU SO!" Chuck and Sarah are back on track, no? I had faith, I stuck it out, and I'm officially pretty damn satisfied. And for those who actually stuck it out as well, kudos to you. For those who didn't, we'll forgive you, it's not too late to start watching again! Chuck needs LIVE viewers to have a chance at a 4th season, so how about we save our favourite show, yeah?

This fic is still an angsty piece of crap, but it should be getting better soon. Short chapter today, sorry about that.

Disclaimers - I don't own Chuck, I don't own Frightened Rabbit's "My Backwards Walk". **theprincess1511** was awesome in beta-ing this!

* * *

The loud clacking of her heels echoed through the park, momentarily disrupting the peaceful, pristine atmosphere that had drifted over the area like a blanket. Only lit by lampposts, the paths that winded around the entire park were dim. Yet she quickened her pace as his voice grew nearer, louder, clearer. Was he with someone? She wasn't sure if she wanted to know.

She crossed the next patch of grass, her breath coming out in ragged gasps as he finally came into view. The first thing she noticed was the musical peal of laughter that escaped his lips as he stared down at his wrung hands. Then her eyes swept over his frame, noting for a fact that he was still dressed in the same clothes that he had worn nearly two days before. And he was alone. Very, very alone.

"Nah, it's not like that…" He whispered to himself, tilting his head to the side as though he were facing someone on the bench. He hadn't noticed her yet.

He beamed with an intense smile, very much knocking the breath from her lungs as she stepped to hide behind a tree. "She's not my girlfriend… She never was."

The abnormally sized lump in her throat threatened to choke her, there and then. He cracked another smile, as she watched him silently – curiously – from the refuge of her tree.

"Look, Sarah's moved on. I mean, I can't deny that I still… love her but –" He pauses, as if someone were interrupting him, but that fact fails to grab her attention because as soon as she hears her name being associated with the word, "love", she sinks to the ground, covering her nose and mouth, in an effort to silence the strangled sob that escapes from her lips.

"It's complicated," he offers, the typical line that magically answered every question without actually answering the question. Ironically, she feels the urge to laugh. When will their relationship ever be uncomplicated?

She wipes the tears away, attempting to rub the tearstains off her cheeks, standing with her back flush against the bark of the tree. She stilled her breathing – it was a miracle that he hadn't noticed she was there yet. Maybe he did, and was politely giving her a chance to man up before she confronted him. She prayed that it wasn't the latter.

But when had the world ever given in to Sarah Walker?

"Sarah?" he calls out, and she freezes in her place, cursing silently. She could do nothing but reveal herself. And she felt her breath hitch as she viewed his pained expression. The eloquent, fancy speech that had formed in her mind began to conveniently fade away.

"Hey Chuck," she offers a smile, and receives another in reply. But she knows that it's all a mask; a façade. She can tell that he masks his pain – it's all in his coffee-brown eyes. But she fails to identify the emotions she wears under hers. She is neither happy, nor content. But both stubbornly refuse to back down. And so, the smiling continued.

He motions her to the empty space on the bench beside him, and she takes it, brushing a hand over her jeans in an effort to clear the sweat off her palms. She smiles; he smiles. The monumental, metaphorical elephant sitting between them begins to smile.

"Sarah, I'm sorry," he starts, breaking the ice. "I'm sorry for running away… I'm sorry for not telling any of you where I was going. But the truth is, I hadn't a clue where I was going either." He takes a moment to breathe; to re-gather and rephrase the rampant thoughts that swarmed in his mind. His eyes, wild and desperate, sought hers, as though they were begging her to understand his decisions.

"I… I met my mum," he finally smiles sincerely – she catalogs his smiles, knowing which are fake or genuine. But her jaw drops, following the revelation. "She's been bringing me around, back to our old home, to –"

Her eyes dart around nervously as she asks, "Where is she, Chuck?"

"She's right behind me, can't you see?" He cranes his neck backwards, and she's reminded that he's still innocent… nerdy. The sight makes her smile, and falter, when she realizes that there's absolutely nothing behind him.

* * *

She wasn't one to cry.

She wasn't one to fall to her knees in agony; wasn't one to pour out her emotions in the most expressive ways possible. She'd perfected the art of storing those forsaken emotions in that little compartment at the back of her heart, cramming every little feeling into that tiny space.

Feeling sad? _Shove it right in there._ Feeling betrayed? _No problem, there's still space in here! _Are you in love? _Stick it right in. _She knew one day that it would overflow and spill over like a toxic mess, but she hadn't expected it to burst – she hadn't expected it to explode.

And when it finally did – when the metallic walls were finally waned and bent from the pressure, when the hair-line fissures began to expand – she cried out, almost hysterically, as though fifteen years of pent up emotions had ravaged every inch of the pulsating bundle of muscles in her chest with its acidity.

She fought off the invasive hands that sought to bring her to her feet again, blocking out the incessant buzzing of conversation around her. And it was with shocking epiphany that she had been lying in bed the whole time.

Staring forlornly at the ceiling, her eyes began to hollow as her mind began to dominate every inch of her being, allowing every thought, every memory, to pour over her like a veil. And the very thought of him jolts her into reliving their entire relationship, the newest scar being the most prominent.

She took in a shaky breath as she sat up on her bed, combing a trembling hand through her blonde tresses. Her stomach ached and her eyes burned with fat, salty tears that left a trail of searing pain as they fell steadily down her cheeks. Swiping them away hastily, she chuckled to herself. _I'm going insane. _

Her bedside lamp fell to the ground with a shuddering crash. She cradled her hand gently, palm still red from the contact. "Punching bag," she mutters pathetically as she moves toward the dangling blue bag – her own personal stress ball.

Refusing the gloves that rested on her dresser, she unleashed an endless tyrant onto the bag, striking it as she would any other opponent. Precise punches landed into the hard fabric, each one with more force than the other as she grunted at the painful contact.

"_I've already notified Shaw and Casey that I found you, Chuck. We've been searching for days. Were you always here? We should get back soon." _

"_I… Shaw? I… can't go back, Sarah. Please, don't make me. I can't… I can't leave her."  
_

"_In case you haven't noticed, you're still the Intersect, Chuck. You have a commitment to honour, and that commitment is in Burbank."_

"_No… I can't. I'm fine here, Sarah." _

"_Look at you! You're in the same set of clothes that you left in, you're dehydrated and delirious! I can't just leave you here."_

"_Try." _

Droplets of perspiration dotted her forehead and her skin glowed with a grimy sheen of sweat. Resting her head against the punching bag, she leaves a faint imprint onto the bag.

She wanted it to be simple again – their relationship. She missed their humorous banter, the easy atmosphere that they normally carried around each other – the moments where she just _knew _that he was the perfect guy; where she could distinguish the fine line between pure love and pure lust.

She attacks the bag again, and she's certain that if the bag were alive, it would've died by now.

"_I'm not taking no for an answer, Walker. Prepare… to be heart warmed."_

She punches the bag once more, and her knuckles begin to ache.

"_Is it really you? Or am I super stoned?"_

She applies a wild roundhouse kick to the bag, and it swings wildly. She punches it once more.

"_It feels great, like everything is finally real."_

Her knuckles, red and raw, begin to bleed from the sheer amount of scraped skin over her bones. She bared her teeth, clenching them in an effort to block out the pain.

"_I like you, Chuck." _

A sharp intake of breath, and she collapses to the floor, sobbing, as she realizes that the sentence is no longer true. No, it's become so much more to her.

"I love you, Chuck," she whispers into the darkness.


End file.
